


Swords, or Whatever Else Surpasses Swords

by softboypassing



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, F/F, For the most part, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29007519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softboypassing/pseuds/softboypassing
Summary: Follows the exploits and relationships of Elfriede von Kohlrausch, one of the last scions of the Lichtenlade family, in the early years of the Lohengramm Dynasty.
Relationships: Elfriede von Kohlrausch/Dominique Saint-Pierré
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Swords, or Whatever Else Surpasses Swords

_sed ferro, sed si quid habes, quod vincere ferrum_

_possit. in one nefas ego me, germana, paravi._

(now it is the time for swords, 

or for whatever else surpasses swords:

my sister, there is no abomination

that I am unprepared to undertake.)

\--Ovid, _Metamorphoses_ , VI.611-12, trans. Charles Martin.

* * *

Elfriede had lived as a noblewoman of the Empire long enough to know when she was being seduced into being a pawn. She had played the role of both the seducer and the pawn often enough, historically, to recognize all the innocuous-seeming blandishments for the snares they were. Still, she was letting herself fall for it, like a deer walking wide-eyed into the path of an oncoming car.

Though she hated to admit it, there was no other option for her. In any case, the experience of being seduced was not a bad one, not this time. Dominique Saint-Pierre’s bathroom was nearly as large as the entire hotel room that she had been staying in for the weeks prior to tonight. She stood there before the mirror for a long time with her toes digging into in the soft, warm bathmat, staring at her reflection without really seeing it.

And perhaps a deer was the wrong analogy, Elfriede mused, scrubbing blood off her face in the shower. Perhaps she was more of a cat, permitting itself to be domesticated for a brief time in exchange for affection and shelter and regular meals.

She had arrived on Phezzan with all the money she had been able to salvage from her emergency funds, and quickly augmented it with selling the few remaining jewels of the von Kohlrausch family. She had thought she was prepared for this sort of event. The succession crisis had been looming over the Empire for years, impossible to avoid noticing even without being as close to the seat of power as her family was. It had seemed a relief at first when her grand-uncle allied himself with the military power of Marshal von Lohengramm. Her parents and cousins had sung his praises, blindly grateful that Duke Lichtenlade could retain his position as Prime Minister despite the death of Kaiser Friedrich IV,forgetting that they had not so long ago refused to call Lohengramm anything but “that blonde brat,” forgetting the hungry ambition so evident in his teenage face. She did not. When the civil war broke out, she was not on Odin (she had been visiting a girlfriend, of sorts, on one of the Lichtenlade estates), and as soon as news of the conflict reached the planet, Elfriede began repacking her belongings and gathering heirlooms, with the eventuality of having to suddenly flee the Empire in mind. The very week that the previous Kaiser’s son-in-laws were defeated, she was proven right about his treachery. 

Her preparations helped a little bit, but the hotel was eating through her funds faster than she expected. Of course, nearly all of her plans had been dependent on more members of her extended family being able to salvage some of their power and wealth and escape to Phezzan as well. Most of her relations were insufferable, falling somewhere on the spectrum of despicable to boring, but she would have given much to be able to bask in the satisfaction of smugly informing any of them that her paranoia and suspicion had been correct, or to see their familiar haughty faces instead of the barbaric false smiles of the Phezzani. Impossible now. 

Elfriede did not like to dwell on impossibilities. She turned the water up hot enough to turn her skin an angry pink. 

When she emerged, the untidy pile of clothes that she had left on the floor was missing. She took it in stride—they were dirty anyways—and wrapped one of the bathrobes hung behind the door around herself. It was soft and plush, though it hung loose around her skinny frame and she had to keep her arms crossed over her chest to keep it closed. Her hair hung in lank ropes down to her thin shoulders, wet and darkened to a dirty amber instead of her usual pale blonde. The shower had not alleviated much of her soreness. Her paltry makeup had come off, revealing her chapped lips and bony face. She felt tired and haggard and wildly unattractive. 

The feeling only intensified when she left the bathroom and wandered through the empty, slickly austere halls of the huge apartment to find Dominique. The size of the place almost disoriented her after the hotel, though it was modest compared to any real Imperial mansion. The whitewashed walls and simple fixtures were a far cry from the ostentatious gilded molding and brilliant wallpaper that she was used to, but wealth seemed to display itself nevertheless in the razor-sharp neatness of the place and the boxy, exaggerated minimalism of the furniture. The sounds of the city outside were muffled almost to silence. The loudest noises she could hear were the low buzz of electric appliances and her quiet footfalls as she walked. There was a faint smell of incense or perfume, something woody and exotic. It felt very far away from the dirty, dense humanity and chaos of the Phezzan capital they were living in. 

Her hostess was in one of the sitting rooms, in an attitude of apparent relaxation on a huge white couch, watching something on the television without sound. Her arm was thrown over the back of the couch, and she held a small tumbler of whiskey in the other hand, but every muscle in her body seemed perfectly tensed, like a hawk perched on a ledge in wait for prey. She was still wearing that red dress that made something in Elfriede’s brain not work properly. 

Stepping even more quietly, the hardwood floor cold on her bare feet, Elfriede came up behind Dominique. She was watching the security footage from the subway station. 

“How was the shower?” Dominique asked. Her voice was lovely and rich, her Imperial accented but warm. It curled softly around her like the borrowed robe. 

Elfriede didn’t answer for a moment, watching the footage. She saw herself, in her least grandiose dress that was still far too Imperial and opulent for a grimy Phezzani subway station, her hair in its customary loose knot on her head, alone on the platform. She saw the man sidle up beside her and try to grab her. The ensuing scuffle was too fast and clumsy to follow, but she saw her mouth open in a wild scream, and she saw her face connect with the man’s ear and come away bloody. And—most importantly—she saw the moment where she had him by the throat, looked at the tracks before her, and very deliberately pushed him over the edge. The train had pulled in two seconds later. 

“It was very nice,” she said eventually. 

Dominique rewound the footage again. “This was fairly impressive,” she said, in the same tone she might use to compliment Elfriede’s form at a ballet class. “I wouldn’t have bitten him, though. The blood marked you out too obviously.” 

She snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind, next time.” A ghost of blood and skin and cartilage was still in her mouth, would stay there for hours. It was like seawater but hot and red. She occasionally had the urge to spit, or probe with her tongue in search of remaining scraps of flesh.

Dominique turned off the television before the footage could loop again, and waved a hand languidly. “Come sit.”

Elfriede did not acquiesce immediately, though her hungry, tired body wanted nothing less than to curl up on the couch in the singer’s lap. Dominique had been one of the first people who she had come to know on Phezzan. On the first night she’d braved going to the hotel bar, she had appeared, an icon of decadent, luxurious Phezzani femininity in the form of a dark flame, incandescent and crimson in the dim light of the room. And—against all odds—she had come to sit by Elfriede, ignoring the ogling men clamoring for her attention. Elfriede didn’t remember what they talked about, just the heat running under her skin that had nothing to do with alcohol, that burned hotter and worse every time Dominique looked at her with those hungry grey eyes. 

It was only later, after another few nights out in her company, that Elfriede found out about Dominique’s fame. She had mentioned in passing that she was a musician, and certainly Elfriede had noticed how easily she paid for even the most expensive drinks (and she always paid), but the information-dense celebrity culture of Phezzan was far beyond the interest or comprehension of a stranded Imperial noblewoman. Still, she could not help but find out eventually. They had been out late one night, another evening of drinking in a dark bar that left Elfriede tipsy and overstimulated from the noise and the alcohol and Dominique’s warm body nearly pressed against her in a cramped booth. Dominique had offered to drive her back to the hotel—or even to her apartment—an obvious flirtation, but Elfriede had wavered, not yet ready to surrender. Dominique’s disappointment had been subtle, yet still smarted. Elfriede was too busy berating herself on the walk back to keep track of where she was going, and ended up in one of the crowded squares that she usually avoided, light glaring from electronic billboards on every available surface and the warm night air thick with smoke and chatter. Panicked by the crush of people, she fought her way to a corner where the crowds seemed sparser and stood there with her back to the buzzing advertisement on the wall, panting. A shift in the tone of its omnipresent glow alerted her to a change in the image. She could not resist turning slightly to view it. 

It showed a relatively simple poster, almost a relief to her eyes after the floods of garish imagery and information from every other advertisement in the square. There were a few words, presumably the name of the film or album, and a release date framing a nearly nude woman with a long fall of crimson hair and firelit skin on a black ground. She lay seductively, wreathed in flame, looking sidelong out at the photographer. Elfriede almost did not recognize her, even though they had only parted less than an hour ago; on their dates (for what else could she call them), Dominique never wore makeup so elaborate. It was dark and smoky and made her expression sultry, vicious.

Now that she had recognized the image, she felt like she was seeing Dominique everywhere, looming over her from all corners. Her face, staring out from countless flickering billboards, took on a cruel, predatory aspect. Elfriede fled the square. 

Once the panic receded, caged safely in that little hotel room, she pulled out the battered laptop she’d carried across the galaxy and started looking up information about Dominique Saint-Pierre on the Phezzan net. It turned out that she was a major celebrity, releasing widely-acclaimed music through her own production studio as well as performing regularly in elite clubs and venues. (The music seemed good to her, but then Elfriede felt as if she could happily listen to Dominique reading a technical manual for hours.) She may have known little about Phezzani media, but she knew enough about the flows of power to know that Dominique was far closer to the source than she let on. The rare candid photographs of her with Landesherr Adrian Rubinsky which she found in her research proved that handily. It had thrown her, more than it should have—she had let her guard down in her starved and isolated panic. In hindsight, it could not have been coincidence that drew Dominique’s attention to her, one of the few survivors of the Lichtenlade family. 

Perhaps she should have fled from this dangerously beautiful woman. If Dominique had been a man, she would have left immediately, or might even have seen the danger far earlier. But Elfriede was far weaker to the charms of women than was ever safe to admit in the Empire. And she still had no idea how she was going to make her way on Phezzan. The only option she felt was really available to her was sex work—it was not so different from the way she had to maneuver through Imperial society, and she figured she might as well get paid for sleeping with men in more than just social influence. But she had not the faintest idea how to get started independently, and every interview she did at the brothels (they had various other, more respectable names, but she could never remember them) left a bad taste in her mouth.

It was after one of these interviews that she ended up in that dingy subway station. Smarting from the smug condescension of the man she had spoken with, bitterly resentful of her situation and her own stubbornness in not falling immediately on the poisoned security that Dominique represented, she was already in a bad mood when she felt hands on her. Every fragment of respectability and courtesy melted from her in that moment, and all her intent was fixed on _getting him away from her_ whatever it took. 

She had remained self-possessed enough to recognize the shriek of the approaching train. Elfriede was quick-thinking if nothing else. There had been screams. A horrible sickening smell of oiled metal and blood. 

Before she could let herself stop and think, she was out of the station and running as fast as she could with her encumbering skirts down the dark streets. A thin drizzle was coming down, and the city smelled of wet grime and damp black asphalt. Elfriede’s feet almost failed her as she stumbled over gutters and potholes. In the greasy light of the streetlamps and buzzing advertisements, she could see spreading dark spatters on her pale blue dress, not all of it mud. 

She had gone several blocks, unthinking and panicked, when a long, low car pulled up short before her just as she started into the crosswalk. Elfriede had to jump back from the scream of wheels, staggering and almost falling into the thin stream of filth beside the sidewalk. When the shining red wall of the car broke open to reveal Dominique, eagle-like and queenly and fatally beautiful, Elfriede’s willpower had crumpled into fragments, like the papery ice of a frozen puddle shattering under her boot-heel.

Dominique’s eyes had passed over her in a quick, sparking flicker. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, dear.”

It beggared belief that _her_ appearance, in this moment, was entirely coincidence. But what else could she do? Where else would she go? Elfriede nodded, slow. Dominique’s dark lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, and she leaned back into the car and gestured to the opposite seat. She had a tiny mole at the corner of her mouth

“Come in, then. Let me take you home. We’ll get you cleaned up.” 

It was the kindest and the most damning invitation she had ever accepted. 

Slowly, Elfriede moved around the couch, feeling Dominique’s eyes on her, and sat down as close as she dared without touching her. She sensed the singer relax next to her, a barely perceptible softening of her tanned limbs.

“What am I to do now?” She was vaguely aware that Phezzani laws on self-defense were relatively lenient, but she had no idea if they applied to her situation.

Dominique took a sip of her whiskey. As if reading her thoughts, she said after a moment, “Legally, you don’t have much to worry about. But I think you should stay here for at least a few days. I can have your things sent over from the hotel tomorrow. If that’s appealing to you.”

_Gods_ , it was. Elfriede couldn’t take her eyes off Dominique’s long legs, her sculptural muscles bared by her side-slit skirt in a way that would have been practically nude in the Empire. Unwilling to make known her surrender just yet, she nodded at the television. “What about that?”

“The company that runs the subway security systems will be offered a significant amount of money to erase those relevant few minutes of footage.” Dominique’s face changed little as she spoke, but Elfriede thought there was a trace of smugness around her lovely mouth. She nodded, satisfied. 

“Will I be safe here?” She left _from whom_ unspecified. Phezzan authorities. The rebels. The blond brat’s Empire. Everyone. 

Dominique nodded. “I allow very few people to know about this apartment, and I regularly entertain even fewer. You should not be worried.” She finished her drink, tossing her head back. Elfriede did not fail to notice the perfect lines of her long neck. Dominique noticed her noticing. After she set the empty glass down on its coaster her hand came down to rest lightly next to Elfriede’s thigh. Her breath caught in her throat. “All this aside, you know I would have asked you to come stay with me eventually.”

“Why?”

“Do you really question my motives that much?” Dominique had a little smirk on her face now. She had a tiny mole at the corner of her mouth, the subtlest of imperfections, but it gave her a beauty that was only the more lovely for being so marred. Her fall of bloodred hair obscured one of her eyes, but the other was sparkling with intent and—somehow—admiration. Elfriede leaned in, almost unconsciously. The woody scent was stronger now, mingled with the golden hot smell of the whiskey, and a fainter, sweeter scent beneath that. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the delicate hollow of her collarbone, the way it echoed the bowlike divot of her lips and the soft curving line of her cleavage. Her bathrobe was falling open in her distraction. Dominique’s fingers found the fluffy edge of it, just barely brushing Elfriede’s skin with her knuckles.

“I wonder if you have others. If your interest is merely your own.” It was hard to form the words with the awareness of Dominique’s hand, like a red-hot iron, so close to her belly. Normally, Elfriede could remain self-possessed and calculating no matter how distracting, how arousing, the situation, but then men were almost never so capable of flustering her. 

“Mmm. Does it matter?” 

No, it did not, Elfriede decided. Not when she had been dreaming about this since she’d met Dominique, since she realized as a girl she could only ever be satisfied by another woman. Her voice was so warm and low and soft. She put her hand on Dominique’s waist, the fabric of the dress slick and warm under her fingers, and leaned in to kiss her. Dominique pulled Elfriede in against her, body pressed hot against body against legs against chest against skin. Sharp nip of teeth against her lips. Elfriede dissolved. 

The air was cold against her bare limbs when Dominique pushed the bathrobe off her shoulders and down to the floor, but she no longer cared. 

**Author's Note:**

> one of the things that i like about LOGH is that it is an extremely fertile ground for transformative creative fancontent, with all its interesting minor characters and a lot of plot/worldbuilding elements that have good potential but fall just short of being excellent. Elfriede is one of these and I love her too much not to put together something that approaches the kind of character study and backstory that she deserves. currently this project is looking like it will be around 8-10 chapters, but that is subject of course to change (probably in the upward direction) as i work on it. i also cannot promise anything remotely like a regular update schedule but i DO intend on finishing it, please do not let me abandon it like the other long-form LOGH fic i started on lol.
> 
> the chapter title and epigraph is from the Ovid's account of the myth of Tereus, Procne, and Philomela in the Metamorphoses, a story about sexual assault and female solidarity in revenge and violence that I am drawing on for the themes of this project (heavy CW for all of those things if you want to look it up). 
> 
> anyways hope you enjoy, comments are hugely appreciated!


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